


nighthawks

by snokoplazm



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2012 Era (Phandom), Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 23:06:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17569640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snokoplazm/pseuds/snokoplazm
Summary: it's one of those days. dan's gone out leaving no way to be reached and phil waits for him.





	nighthawks

**Author's Note:**

> some points:
> 
> \- depression is a very serious issue and it is not in any way romantic, and i don't intend for it to be. if you think you have depression or any mental illness, please seek help with a professional.
> 
> \- what dan did is a very irresponsible thing to do and, most of all, it's very dangerous. 
> 
> \- if you haven't watched dan's [Daniel and Depression](https://youtu.be/Wp2TUPo5W0c/) video, i encourage you to do so. i think it's revolutionary and very well done and informative, and this fic is based on some of dan's real experience. 
> 
> all this being said, please enjoy the read

The apartment, without Dan, is very likely a liminal space (he just read about them to distract himself and somehow just managed to find another word for this mess). It doesn't feel right, not when Dan is not safe and at home, laughing with soft eyes or writing in bed or pressing melodies on piano keys in the background. Time seems to flow differently, slowly, making each minute painful.

Maybe he's traveling between dimensions. The fajitas he made for dinner taste of something like sadness mixed with the feeling of uselessness. That's never happened before, but well, he usually doesn't eat alone either. Half the food rests untouched in the pan in hopes that when Dan comes back, he can have something to eat, even though he knows Dan won't be hungry.

In another world, he's sat beside him making obscene noises at the food and serenely sipping on a _ribena_ glass. In this one, Phil doesn't know where he is or what he could do on his own. In this one, his phone lays untouched and cold on the table, and it's like the loneliest painting he has ever seen. An Edward Hopper one.

Phil doesn't know a lot about clinical depression, he is sure Dan doesn't either, but Phil would be the sad one, for him. Phil would do anything it took for Dan's figure to rise, for his shoulders to not carry this much weight, for his eyebags to disappear, for him not to lay awake thinking all night. Phil would do anything.

He is staring at Dan's phone across the table when he snaps back, unlocks his own phone, checks the time. 11 pm and something. It's so late, and Dan so vulnerable somewhere out there, but he can't let himself create every scenario possible and cry. Nights like these, he has to be strong for the both of them and simply wait, try and ease away his anxieties with the promise of Dan coming back, being able to take him in his arms and lull him to sleep like a baby. Like he's the smallest, most delicate thing in the world (which, to Phil, he is).

Phil swallows and runs his hands through his hair, pushing it back into a messy quiff. He puts the rest of his food back on the pan, goes to switch his contact lenses for thickly rimmed glasses, puts on pajamas and makes himself a coffee and carries it with shaky cold hands to his bedside table, tries not to let his mind spiral into the dark like the swirls of milk mixing with dark coffee in his mug.

He grabs a random book from his Stephen King collection and arranges the fluffiest pillows to lean on, and reads, sips on his coffee. He doesn't notice his eyes drooping or his hands softly dropping the book on his lap. He falls asleep with the thought of Dan coming home on his mind.

 

* * *

 

He blinks sleep away slowly and not quite wanting to, but just as he awakes he is already worrying, Dan the first thing he can think of. It's an involuntary thing, like an automatic. A reflex, at this point.

He quickly checks his phone (1 am) before he can hear the tiniest squeaks coming from somewhere in the flat. _Dan's home._

Phil quickly untangles the covers from his legs, drags himself out of bed and searches everywhere in the flat for him. How can one not be able to find a 6 ft 3 man in their kind of flat? He searches with the ears, the little squeaks almost being clues, and Phil being completely lost in his own home.

Then, in the lounge, in the dark, there he is. Phil almost doesn't see him, but he does.  

Dan looks tiny laying on his side on the couch, his arms crossed as if hugging himself, and he cries, and for a second it seems like he'll never stop crying. Phil needs him to stop crying some time. He desperately wants to do something about his crying, about the hurricane in his head, about depression. Is it possible to do something? Can he?

Phil runs to him as soon as he sees, and in the dark, he can barely make out his features, but Dan's tear tracks and eye bags will forever burn in the back of his mind, he feels. For a moment, Dan looks at him as if saying _please_ and tries to reach for him with his hands. The seconds it takes for Phil to have him in his arms feel eternal.

So he quickly holds him, shushes him softly, and Dan cries on his shoulder. The sound of his crying breaks Phil's heart over and over and he is sure it will haunt his dreams at night.

“I'm sorry,” Dan sobs, and Phil wants to say so much that he doesn't know what to say.

Dan feels like a big, heavy sack of sadness. Like ocean waves crashing violently against big rocks on a storm at night, like the bluest shade of blue, like every natural disaster happening at the same time. Like he stands right on a cliff's edge and like he _is_ that cliff's edge simultaneously, and Phil feels powerless. Like nothing he can do could stop the constant hurricane in Dan's mind. He just stays there, shushing him in his arms for a moment, thinking of what to do.

“Okay, Dan, let's get you to bed.”

Dan can't speak, just cries and cries, and he can't seem to let go of Phil either. He knows Dan needs him, and he knows he himself needs to take care of him. It's the reason it's so hard to break apart from him and to listen to his little whimpers as he does so.

He takes one of Dan's hands in his and helps him up, watches him take tiny steps towards their room with a hand on the wall, and Phil follows. He's afraid Dan's going to fall for a moment, but he doesn't. Dan is strong even when vulnerable, and Phil has no idea what he would do if he were in Dan's position. Dan is so strong.

Phil watches him throw himself in bed, and he closes the door after. Dan covers his eyes with his hands but keeps on sobbing.

“Can I do anything? Is there anything you need?” Phil asks.

“ _No_ ,” Dan mutters, his voice throaty and broken.  

Phil turns the lights off and makes his way to bed, drags the bright checkered covers over their bodies. He scoops Dan closer and kind of holds him, kind of threads his fingers through his hair.

“It’s okay,” he whispers before he kisses the top of his head. “Everything’s okay. I love you.”

Dan sobs on his neck for a while, but eventually, his breathing evens out and he's fallen asleep.

It's Phil who can't sleep anymore. He stares out the window, notices the rain softly crashing on the glass and sliding through it only to fall back down.

How could life do this to Dan, he wonders. How could it? Why would it? A lot of his time these days is spent studying these, the how and why of Dan, how he feels things so heavily, how there are days where he just won't get out of bed, how those keep multiplying, how he turns around sometimes so he doesn't have to face things, the world, him. The rain feels as if life manifested itself in drops softly knocking on the window just to see Dan suffer. It's as if the universe played this dirty joke on them and it went out of hand. Everything reminds him of Dan's tears, of the look of his puffy eyes. He can hear him cry in his head, still.

For a moment, Phil is so angry. Everything seems guilty of doing this to Dan. He can't seem to protect him in all the ways he wants to. He can't protect him from his own mind, mostly, and he hates that. He is so angry at the universe and the stars and everything there is between him and outer space, but then, Dan snores. Barely audible, but he does. His shoulders rise as he breathes, and he's not crying anymore. Phil watches him breathe, and he finally breathes too. Dan is home. He's asleep beside him. He is okay.

Everything is okay now, he thinks.

Yeah, everything is okay.

Phil makes himself comfortable. He hangs an arm around Dan's waist. He kisses his nose. He looks out the window once more, and the world doesn't look nearly as threatening anymore. They can talk about things tomorrow. He will read about clinical depression and how to help and what to do. He sighs.

It's just rain, and everything is okay.

**Author's Note:**

> [nighthawks, by edward hopper](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/a/a8/Nighthawks_by_Edward_Hopper_1942.jpg/)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> come say hi @snokoplazm in tumblr!


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